Four Times They Never Kissed and One Time They Did
by Trillian Astra
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley's complicated relationship, seen at five points in time. Mild slash, not graphic. Rated T for safety.Disclaimer: Uh, no, this isn't mine. I wish it were though.


**A/N:**** This is my first Good Omens fanfiction, which was written because I love the characters of Crowley and Aziraphale, and I think this relationship really is possible. Also, I wanted to write something about them before the events of the book, just doing what they do. **

**So, please read, and enjoy, my story, and if you give me a review at the end I will love you forever. The very nicest reviews get Oreos and chocolate ice-cream. Enjoy the story.**

Four Times They Never Kissed, and One Time They Did

Featuring:

Crowley, a Demon of Hell

Aziraphale, a Principality of Heaven

Various Persons from History, none of whom are the property of the Author

The aforementioned Demon and Principality are intellectual property of Messrs. T. Pratchett and N. Gaiman. No infringement of copyright is intended.

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One

It had been Crowley's idea to head for the Mediterranean. Something about it being hotter than England, apparently. Anyway, they had ended up in Greece, and more specifically, Sparta.

Crowley had been surprised. He was expecting another city-state like Athens, and what he got was a city of mostly free-thinking warriors whose most tightly held belief was in fighting and dying with honour. Seeing as Up There didn't exactly like freethinkers, and Down There had a special circle just for atheists, he concluded that his work had basically been done for him.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had his work cut out. He'd liked Athens, the philosophers there were actually quite inclined to believe, and to be honest they didn't spend that much time actually thinking about – for example – whether or not gods existed. Okay, so there were mavericks like that Socrates fellow, but people like that were even ostracised by other philosophers. But in Sparta, he had to work. They were all so hung up on this stuff about evidence, and believing in what they could see, it was almost enough to make an angel swear (1).

So Aziraphale tried futilely to convert the Spartans, and Crowley sat around watching, getting enormously drunk, and eating huge quantities of olives. Eventually, Aziraphale concluded that Sparta was a lost cause, and for a while they got drunk together on a new drink Crowley had invented, called retsina. It was really catching on with the locals.

One night, they'd been drinking particularly hard, and they ended up sitting by a small grove of olive trees, looking up at the stars, and talking. So when sunrise came, they had sobered up, but they decided to stay and watch the sun rise together. Crowley looked out over the fields, and looked at the angel sitting next to him. He wondered, briefly, if he would have had such a close relationship with his opposite number if another angel had been posted to Earth. Then he remembered Aziraphale's love of the little planet and its people, and his devotion to his task, and realised that he couldn't imagine working with anyone else. He certainly wouldn't have had the Arrangement(2) with anyone else.

No, Crowley concluded, Aziraphale was unique among the angels. He looked over at his companion, and was momentarily taken aback. Seeing the angel's profile tinted by the rosy light of dawn, it was as if he was seeing him for the first time. He noticed the soft curls of blond hair at his forehead and the nape of his neck, and the soft grey-blue of his eyes, suddenly he was overcome by the desire to pull Aziraphale closer and kiss him.

He didn't, though. It wouldn't have been "appropriate", as Aziraphale would say. Instead, he took a deep breath and dismissed the thought.

After that day, the idea didn't even cross his mind for centuries.

Two

The angel and the demon parted ways after they left Sparta, and followed their own paths for a time. The next time they met was completely by accident. Crowley was in Florence, where he'd met an artist with a brilliant mind and a tendency towards heresy that he thought was very promising. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had been rather active in the Italian church, encouraging godliness and suchlike.

They met on a very ordinary little street. Crowley had been strolling around, enjoying a rather nice day after an extremely good lunch with his artist, Leonardo. Aziraphale was returning from meeting with a monk who had some very interesting ideas in conflict with the Pope's(3). Aziraphale had adopted the guise of a Dominican, so as to fit in better.

As Crowley sauntered down the busy street, he caught a glimpse of black robes, and instinctively slipped to one side to avoid what he thought was a monk. When he was out of sight, he looked around for a way to tempt the 'monk', but then he detected a familiar celestial presence. As he recognised the presence, he grinned, and emerged to hurry after Aziraphale.

"Hey, wait up!"

The monk turned slowly, and then Crowley saw a smile appear on the angel's face. "Crowley, dear boy, I didn't think I'd see you here."

"Aziraphale… good to see you."

"It is always a pleasure. But what _are_ you doing here?"

"Come on, I'll buy you something to drink. Have you eaten?"  
"A drink would be nice."

They ended up at a small tavern that Crowley frequented, each drinking chilled wine.

"So, angel, what are you working on?"

"A fellow called Savonarola, very promising. Seems to be looking to break away from the Pope, get rid of all the extravagance and back to the essentials. What about you, my boy?"

"I found an artist, he's incredible. Amazing painter, scientist, inventor, absolute genius, there's nothing he can't put his mind to. And, to top it all off, he's more than a little inclined to heresy."

"I suppose the heresy was your doing."

Crowley assumed a hurt face. "Angel, surely you know by now that I don't work like that. Leonardo became a heretic all by himself, I'm just encouraging him, passing on a few good ideas, that's all."

"Don't pout, Crowley. Anything else this Leonardo of yours is amazing at?"

"Well, he's not exactly normal, you know? And his tastes are a little… exotic. You know?"

"Exotic? What, is he into the odd mushrooms, like old John was?"

Crowley could see that the angel didn't understand. "Ah, no, not those kind of tastes. The _other_ kind, yes?"

He watched as realisation slowly dawned on the angel's face. "Ohh… well, I see, yes. Of course. Um…"

"Angel, there's no need to get flustered about that sort of thing."

"That's all very well for you to say. Your bosses don't frown on _that_ sort of behaviour.(4)"

"Oh, angel… one day I am really going to have to introduce you to the ways of the world."

"I know plenty about the ways of the world."  
"I meant, the things you _can't_ read about in books. About people like Leonardo."

"Well, maybe I don't want to do that." The angel said primly. Crowley just laughed. "Oh, you're such an innocent."

"I'm an _angel_."

Crowley leant across the table, so that his face was much closer to Aziraphale's. "And maybe I'd like to corrupt you a bit, my innocent angel.", he said in a low whisper. He was about to move back to his seat, but Aziraphale moved to stand up at the same moment and they collided. They ended up facing each other, barely an inch apart. Crowley's golden eyes flickered downwards, and he found that centuries-old feeling resurfacing – the feeling that he wanted to close that inch of space between them and kiss him.

This time, though, he actually started to move in, turning his head slightly to the side, but just before their lips touched, Aziraphale stepped backwards, blushing furiously, and left in a hurry.

Three

Crowley and Aziraphale saw each other quite frequently after their meeting in Florence, although Aziraphale was still feeling awkward about their almost-kiss. Then again, Aziraphale felt awkward about most things that involved any kind of intimacy, so the demon wasn't terribly surprised. He was used to the angel's company now, and he was able to put up with it.

They had been spending a lot of time in England – the country where Aziraphale felt most at home – but when rumours started to circulate about trouble in the colonies, they immediately packed up and took a ship to America. When they arrived, Aziraphale found that the devout pilgrims he'd encouraged to go there to settle in the newly-discovered lands had become a group of very independent settlers, who wanted to be completely independent from England. They also had a large number of people who weren't entirely certain in their belief in God, and many of those people seemed to be quite important.

Crowley, meanwhile, was very happy(5). He had _big_ plans for America, and it was all going marvellously well. The American settlers had declared themselves Independent, and they even won a war against the English to prove it. After that, the new government started writing a Constitution, an act that Crowley was somewhat involved in.

Aziraphale had backed England in the war, so after they lost he holed up with his books and manifested himself some alcohol, while Crowley was running around sorting out the new country.

One day in particular, Crowley spent hanging around and telling people how great it would if the new state wasn't devoted to Christianity, but to free speech and thought instead. Eventually the new constitution was written, and Crowley and the founders of the new state celebrated by… well, by getting drunk. When he eventually stumbled into the chambers he and Aziraphale shared, he was extremely drunk. He was barely able to unlock the door, and when he did he just collapsed onto the floor, groaning.

Aziraphale got up from his armchair as soon as he heard the door open. "Crowley? Crowley, dear boy, are you all right?"

"Wha… uh… yeah, 'm a bi' drun… dunk… drunk! Tha's it, 'm drunk."

"Yes, I can see that. Now, I'm just going to get you onto the couch, yes?" The angel carefully pulled him to his feet, guided him to the couch, and helped him to lie down. Then, he fetched a jug of water, a glass and a washcloth. He made the cloth wet, and carefully wiped Crowley's face. Then he pulled off the demon's jacket and shirt, placing a cushion underneath his head to make him more comfortable. He gave him water, a few sips at a time, and took care of him.

A short time after he had stumbled through the door, Crowley opened his eyes. He looked up at Aziraphale's concerned face above him, and smiled. "I might have known."

"Someone has to look after you."

"And it had to be you."

"Who else would?"

"Yeah, it had to be you."

"I like looking after you, you know. You should let me do it more often."

" 'kay, I'll let you. Thanks, 'Zira."

Aziraphale knelt next to the couch, bringing his mouth level with Crowley's ear, and whispered. "My pleasure." He was about to stand up and go back to his book, but then he noticed – as if for the first time – how beautiful the demon was. He moved to sit on the edge of the couch, and gently pushed a dark curl of hair off his face. He touched the side of his face gently, and suddenly felt the desire to bend down and kiss Crowley, right then.

But Aziraphale couldn't. He didn't feel as comfortable with intimacy as Crowley did, it was one of the differences between angels and demons. So instead, he just wiped the demon's face again, and went back to his books.

Four

Their next almost-kiss came almost two centuries later, during the 1950s. Since the last encounter, electricity had been invented, and the world had come so far. Crowley and Aziraphale were both very proud of their respective projects, and Crowley was especially pleased with the progress America had made.

So the 1950s arrived. Crowley was living in America, and he had heard about a young Senator from Wisconsin who, the word on the demonic grapevine said, had definite potential. He'd been passed a name – a Joseph McCarthy – and a street address, so he tracked him down. He noted that the man had a distinct hatred of Communists(6), so getting him to sin was easy. He just planted some suggestions, to make him think that America was under threat of being infiltrated by the communists. Soon, there was a proper witch-hunt in progress, with plenty of nicely tarnished souls ready for Hell.

At the same time, Aziraphale had also been busy. Crowley had been sporting enough to give the angel a heads' up about his plans, to give him a fair chance, and Aziraphale had found a particularly popular television journalist to take on McCarthy, by the name of Edward Murrow. Soon, Murrow and his colleagues had outed McCarthy to the nation, and they had a lot of support.

The angel and the demon met up after Murrow's (and Aziraphale's) victory, to celebrate with a few quiet drinks. They were in the bar of a rather nice hotel where Aziraphale was staying, and drinking an extremely good whiskey.

"So, I just wanted to say, well done. Your guy was amazing."

"Even I didn't think he'd do that well."

"You really know how to pick the good ones, angel."

"And you're very good at picking the bad ones."

"Nah… not really. McCarthy, he was bad, and he's destined for Hell, I know he is, but he's not _clever_. Your guy, your Murrow, he's clever. He knew what to do, by himself, and you hardly had to prompt him at all."

"Well.."

"No, don't be modest. You were great. You are great."

"And you're drunk. I think you need to get to bed, sleep it off."

"Yeah, I think you're right… see how great you are, still looking out for me, all the time… you're such a great friend, 'Zira…"

"Yes, okay, Crowley, now let's get you upstairs. You can use my bed, I won't need it."

Aziraphale helped Crowley up to his room. When they were inside, Crowley stopped and pulled Aziraphale closer, putting his hands on the angel's waist. "Y'know, 'Zira, you're really a great friend… I love you, love you so much…" He moved closer, about to kiss the angel in front of him, but then Aziraphale took a step backwards. Crowley staggered a bit, then sat down in a chair because he couldn't stand upright without swaying.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry, Crowley."

"Why?"  
"I can't. Not now."

"Why not now?"  
"I just… can't do this."

"Will you ever be able to?"

"Maybe. Maybe one day, I don't know. But not now."  
"Maybe…"

"Yes. Maybe."  
"Maybe is okay, I can deal with that. But please, let it be "yes" one day, okay?"

"I'll try."

Then, Aziraphale helped the demon over to his bed, and left him there to sleep off the drunkenness. The angel spent the night reading, or pretending to, and thinking about what Crowley had said, and done, and what had almost happened that night.

Five

Armageddon had come, and Armageddon had been averted. Afterwards, no-one really knew what to do with themselves, and Heaven and Hell were so busy trying to work things out that they were no use to anyone.

So Aziraphale and Crowley went back to London. Crowley drove, and they went back to the bookshop together. When they arrived, they went inside, hung a "closed" sign on the door and settled down in the cosy living room with plenty of drinks and a takeaway curry they'd picked up on the way back.

Aziraphale was sitting on the couch, Crowley in an armchair opposite. They finished off the curry, and spent the rest of the evening getting drunk. When they were both pretty inebriated, Crowley looked up at the angel, suddenly feeling very, very sober.

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember the fifties?"

"Well, yes, vaguely… any particular part of the fifties?"

"That night in the hotel, after Murrow…"

Aziraphale put his glass down. He remembered. "Yes."

"Do you remember what you said?"

"Of course."

"Did you mean that?"

"When do I ever say things I don't mean?"

"_Did you mean it?_"

"Then, yes. I did."

"Have you changed your mind since then?"

Crowley stood up, and stepped closer to the angel.

Aziraphale stood up, looking straight into those beautiful golden eyes.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"And, what did you decide?"  
Crowley stepped forward. Now he was so close to Aziraphale that to kiss him would only mean closing a inch of space between them. "Angel?"

"I can." And with those two words spoken, Aziraphale closed the space between them, pressing his lips to Crowley's, then deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue into the demon's open mouth.

After that… well, they moved onto the bedroom. And they didn't leave the bedroom, not even once, for the next forty-eight hours. You can use your imagination as to what they did in those 48 hours.

_Finis_

(1) Which, of course, angels don't do. But that doesn't mean they don't get frustrated.

(2)The Arrangement between Crowley and Aziraphale allowed each of them free rein in their chosen areas. If you don't know that, you probably haven't read Good Omens… so why are even reading this.

(3)Girolamo Savonarola, 1452-1498, an Italian priest seen by some as the precursor of Martin Luther. He is most famous for the "Bonfire of the Vanities" in which many artworks and books were destroyed. He was excommunicated and executed in 1498. See, even fanfics can be educational

(4)It's basically accepted these days that Leonardo da Vinci – and yes, that's who they're talking about – was gay. Obviously, Heaven was not going to be terribly understanding. For Hell, meanwhile, Leonardo was (pun intended) a godsend – gay, heretical, _and_ an enquiring scientist.

(5)He would have been rubbing his hands together in glee, but demons just don't do that sort of thing. It's just not cool you know?

(6)Another of Crowley's triumphs.


End file.
